Category Archives: Story

Note: This is a true story about one of my experiences and for adults only. It contains gay male bondage roleplay and sexual contact between men.

My buddy Dave recently bought a fixer-upper house in a bad neighborhood of Los Angeles. In his backyard, at the end of his carport, was a rickety old barn like garage. With my help, we converted it into a dungeon. Like me, Dave was primarily a dominant master (a “dom”) but we enjoyed switching up roles when we played. Having his own dungeon was a big feather in his BDSM cap. He outfitted it with his existing bondage gear and toys, and all kinds of crazy, kinky stuff. The most significant additions to his dungeon that made it special, however, required special installation. Since I was handy with heavy-duty tools, I volunteered to be his slave labor for the task. One was a bondage bed. He found an old iron bed at a thrift store that we reinforced with more metal material and then anchored it to the concrete flooring.

Next, we installed his piece de resistance, which were two sets of metal scaffolding towers. Through a craigslist ad, he found a music company “dumping” these gargantuan beasts to anyone who could take them away from their storage. They were the kind used for rock concerts to frame a stage and hold up lighting. It took us an entire day but we were able to install them inside the garage and deadbolt them into the concrete flooring securely. Miraculously the aluminum towers fitted to the inch inside, just barely touching the roofing of the garage. We joked that it also made the shabby structure more secure and guaranteed the old roof wouldn’t fall on our heads.

Hunter pulled Spencer along like a pet, not even slowing down for him. He led them into a nearby alley where they’d be obscured by the night. The smells that surrounded them were far from pleasant; piss, sick, and rotting food emanated from every dumpster. But both of them would soon forget the smells around them. Stopping suddenly, Hunter turned and fell against one bare wall, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Well?” he murmured.

“Here?” Spencer asked.

“You’d rather in front of all your friends? Or where someone can see you?” Good point. He took a step forward, not being able to move more than two steps away anyway because of the leash. He fell to his knees, not thinking about what he was kneeling in. He was met with a prominent bulge in his face, the smell of leather of his chaps and the denim of his jeans. He looked up at Hunter who just watched back.

He didn’t need to be told; he was expected to take them off himself; which would have been easy if his arms weren’t behind his back. But he went with it, he wasn’t about to start being picky and mouthy. Plus he did have a debt to pay. He moved in and gave his first kiss, the cold fabric contrasting with the smooth and cool leather against his lips… all of it firm and stretched over the rock hard cock shrouded beneath. He started licking, a mixture of worshipping the bulge and finding the zipper. Why did they always have to hide the damn things beneath a fold? It took a while for him to ease the zipper out, all the while, Hunter watched on, enjoying the grunts and murrs of the kid on his knees beneath him. He himself never made a sound but obviously enjoying the eager head that bobbed up and down as its tongue worked against his straining cock.

NOTE: This story starts off with innocent bondage but becomes very sexually graphic, involving gay sexual contact. The young men depicted are over 18, and you must be over 18 to read.

I was in for the most humiliating kidnap by my hockey team that would turn in to the craziest sexual experience of my life. This is the story of my 21st birthday. After a practice, a group of my teammates tackled me in the locker room while I was undressing. I didn’t stand a chance. I was tied up, gagged, and stuffed into a thick canvas laundry bag. I was transported to one their houses via someone’s car. When I was removed from the sack, I was situated on a bed. They untied me and proceeded to remove the last parts of my hockey gear.

They did, though, spare me full on humiliation by leaving me in my jockstrap. I put up the fight of my life, but there were six of these guys against me. I was screwed. They held me down and tied me spread eagle to that bed with ropes.

My gag, which was a few haphazardly applied layers of athletic tape, was coming off partly on the account of all the sweating. As it fell from my face, I started to yell my head off. Well, that was a mistake. The next thing I remembered was Jacobi, the co-captain of our team, quickly stripping out of his sweatpants and slipping out of his jockstrap. I only caught a glimpse of what he was doing before he was shoving his sweaty jock into my mouth.

Sputnik shuffled from one hoof to the other, grinding the bit between his teeth. His mind was racing, his thoughts all blurring together. The grainy remnants of a sugar cube clung to the back of his tongue stimulating his salivary glands, and the aphrodisiac already doing its work on his achingly stiff cock.

“Easy there, stud.” Ian gave his butt a gentle tap with the crop. “You’ve been doing well, this is just going to be fun for you! Just… Hold your… Horses.” Ian chuckled unable to keep his intended deadpan delivery. Sputnik rolled his eyes as his handler doubled over in a breathless fit of giggles.

“Nervous much?” Rich poked his head through the door, the cheery twinkle in his eyes betraying his cool demeanor. “Pull yourself together, it’s showtime. Here you go, Sputnik.” Rich stuffed another sugar cube past the stallion’s bit and ducked back through the door from whence he appeared.

Sputnik gulped the sweet grainy treat down. That was the third energy-boosting aphrodisiac-laced serving he’d been given in the last five minutes. Guess they didn’t think he was horny enough. He huffed in frustration.

Ever since I saw his video “Good Vibrations,” I feel in worship over the ruggedly gorgeous Brooklyn-faced Marky Mark. His flawless muscle bound exterior of smooth, pale white skin gave me an erection every time I stared at him. He was a white boy from Brooklyn, but he had cocky, rhythmic way of working his body.

Everything about him was large! His bulging biceps and chest. His thick calves. His big lips and mouth. Marky Mark was my dream god!

A few weeks ago, I was flipping through a grocery store tabloid and my eyes caught something fantastic. It was a full body shot in color of Marky Mark performing an afternoon LA concert. He was clutching his mike and wearing only a fresh white pair of department store underwear and a red baseball cap. He had stripped down to his briefs and danced around the stage in his bare feet while teenage fans went wild! In the photo close up, you could see his cocky confident grin through the mike. Also, you couldn’t help notice the bulge between. Marky Mark knew he was hot.

I fantasized about him for days after that photo. I wanted to meet him somehow. I would ravage his sinful body and let him do to me whatever he commanded!

I grew up in the big city. My college roommate grew up on a country ranch. Our backgrounds couldn’t have been more different. But we hit it off from the first time I set foot into our dorm room.

I was bringing in my stuff to load into the room, when I saw Darren making knots in some rope. I had been into being bound for the last five years. When I saw the rope I said something like “I hope you’ll use that rope on me, roomie”.

Darren looked over at me and got a big smile on his face. “It sounds like I’m going to enjoy rooming with you!”

I put my stuff down and said “hi, I’m Louis Short. Just call me Louie.”

“Hi, Louie. I’m Darren Hartford. And I love to tie guys up with my rope. You won’t be able to get out of any rope work I do.”

“Great! I love to be tied up. And I don’t want to get out.”

“Can I help you get your things brought in?”

“Sure. I’ve still got a couple more loads. My car is out front.”

After we’d brought everything up and I parked my car, I started putting things away. Darren and I started getting acquainted then, and we found out where we were from and what we were majoring in at school. We checked our classes and found that, while we didn’t share any classes, they were at pretty much the same times, giving us some extra time together. At that thought, we both started getting smiles on our faces as we thought about the possibilities.

He didn’t know what the hell he was doing here. Seriously. The night had originally been a meet up at a pub. Simple, enjoyable; and it didn’t involve stupidly loud music and obnoxious flashing lights at whatever club happened to be on their minds. A pub was something he could enjoy. But of course, plans changed and out of the blue, instead it was going to be a night at a club. Not just any club either. For some reason, they were heading to a gay club even though none of his friends were gay, just hum. It made no sense. But then from the sounds of it, they were all already drunk when he turned up.

He had a feeling his mates were hinting at something as well, but honestly he felt more like a third wheel than anything. He had been looking forward to this night back when the plan was a few drinks and chatting at a pub; A chance to chill. But now? He wasn’t sure if he was anymore. He wasn’t the club sort of guy. He didn’t dance, not because he couldn’t: anyone can dance when they’ve had enough alcohol. He just didn’t particularly find it fun. Anytime he had danced in the past it was to keep everyone else happy; friends who were throwing him annoyed looks because he wasn’t partaking in the strange ritual others called dancing… because he didn’t want to in the first place.

Everyone else seemed to be enjoying it though, and every time they came over to ask him if he was alright: sure. He lied through his teeth and said yes. But mostly he just wanted to get the hell home.

Kevin, flanked by his best friend, Matt, stormed into his own beachside apartment with purpose where he found his roommate, Flynn, in the middle of removing his motorcycle gear. Flynn had just returned from a long motorcycle ride in the mountains. He had taken off his helmet, gloves, and one of his boots when they barged in so suddenly. Flynn was still fully suited up in his motorcycle racing leathers, though. Kevin and Matt, without warning, tackled him. They had restraints ready; a collection of clothesline rope and duct tape.

Flynn didn’t put up much resistance since he shrugged it off as innocent horseplay that wouldn’t go far. He laughed but was handedly taken to the floor. They sat on top of him and pulled his hands behind his back. Kevin skillfully tied Flynn’s wrists together quickly with some of the clothesline they brought. Once they were bound, Flynn then knew it was a little more serious.